A blog about an average girl who just happens to have Cerebral Palsy

Follow me on Twitter

Tag: depression

It’s been a while since I’ve given you an update on how my mental health is, and this week is Mental Health Awareness Week 2019, so now seems like a fitting time to bring you all up to speed.

A bit of background about my mental health

Long time readers of this blog might remember that I’ve struggled with anxiety which manifests itself as what I call ‘OCD-type tendencies’ since I was about eight or nine years old. It started out as me constantly worrying about germs and constantly washing my hands. Over the years it’s taken a few different forms, like uncontrollable worrying, worrying I would eat too much and be sick, an even more intense fear of germs that had me washing my hands before, during and after a trip to the loo and changing my clothes after every visit to the bathroom.

When I was at my worst around five years ago, I was unable to sit still and would often pace my house crying and mumbling to myself to try and quiet the din in my brain. I struggled to get a job after graduating university, which made me depressed at the same time. Some days I struggled to get out of bed. I felt worthless and everything felt pointless. The world seemed grey for a long time. I went to the doctor, started antidepressants and started therapy again.

How my mental health is as of May 2019

As of May 2019 I’ve been on antidepressants for roughly five years, during which time I’ve altered dosages and changed tablets until I found what seems to be the right fit for me. Medication was not a magical cure for me, and it certainly hasn’t taken away my anxiety completely, but it definitely has made a difference in my case. In truth, I can’t really remember a time when I haven’t had anxiety, and I’ve accepted that it is something I’ll have to manage throughout my life. I’m sure there’ll be bumps along the way, but I feel like a have a deep enough understanding of my triggers and the things that help me manage the blips, to nip things in the bud before they reach the levels I’ve been at in the past.

Up until a couple of months ago my anxiety levels were feeling pretty, well, level. I’ve not felt quite so ‘comfortable’ of late, but that’s something (in my case) to be expected, given that I’ve recently started another new job and am in the process of applying for PIP. I’m aware of how I’m feeling and I’m monitoring it. The people close to me know I’m feeling ‘unsettled’, and I’m using some of the coping strategies I’ve learned through various stints of CBT.

I’ve been in full-time employment since January 2018, and I don’t think I’ve seen a therapist since the September before that. I always used to say as soon as I got a job I’d pay to see a therapist privately on a constant basis. Of course, the support I’ve had on the NHS has been amazing, but as anxiety especially is something I’ve struggled with since childhood, I feel like being able to have support from the same person as and when I need it for as long as I need it, would be massively helpful to me.

And yet, since I’ve started work I don’t actually feel like this is something I need to do. Not yet anyway.

It’s taken a long time, and a lot of hard work, but I think I’m mentally in a good place, and have been for a while.

Share this:

Like this:

It’s 1am and here I am, unable to sleep for what must be the third time this week.

I have no idea what’s keeping me awake tonight. One night, it was feelings of ‘What am I doing with my life?’ another time it was because I wanted to write. Last night pain decided to climb into bed with me and make getting comfortable impossible, but today…

It’s been one of those weird days today, where I haven’t felt unwell exactly, but I’ve not been myself either. I could tell things would be like that as soon as I woke up because I felt anxious to my tummy. All churn-y and whatnot.

I’d already planned to work from home, which was probably a blessing. I sort of feel like I’ve been in a daze all day; not down the grey pit of depression, but not fully engaged with life either.

I suppose I’m probably just over tired. I think I should try sleep now. I hope i can. I’m sure things will feel better in the morning…

Like this:

I looked forward to them because all of my family and friends were employed, so weekends meant I could spend time with them. Plus, for two days a week it felt like it didn’t matter that my body clock was a mess because lots of other people would be staying up late and sleeping in. I felt like everyone else. For most of it.

The hardest day of the week for me it the five and a half years I was jobless wasn’t, as you might think, a Monday morning. By the end of it I’d reached the point where I mostly slept Monday morning (well, most mornings actually) away so that I wouldn’t be as lonely.

Sundays, especially the afternoons and evenings, sucked way more.

Everyone would spend it complaining that they didn’t want to go to work the next day and I couldn’t wait until I could say that sort of thing too, even if I didn’t mean it. I hated knowing that another Monday was about to go by without a shiny new job for me to go to.

Now, after two months of working, I look forward to weekends because I feel like I’ve earned them. Sundays don’t suck any more, and I haven’t quite reached the point where I have that ‘Oh poop, it’s Monday tomorrow’ feeling. I’m sure that will come in time though.

Share this:

Like this:

The other day while I was in the shower it hit me: February marked four years since I started taking antidepressants, and as well as wondering where the time had gone, I realised I wasn’t sure how I feel about this. I’m still not.

Before I go any further with this post, I want to make it clear that right from the first couple of weeks of taking my meds I knew I’d done the right thing. It’s actually the best thing I’ve ever done. I have no regrets.

But I still remember how I felt in my doctors appointment that day. I’d been offered meds before in the past and refused them, but this time I knew I’d do anything they suggested. At the time, my anxiety was more of an issue than depression, and, as dramatic as I know this sounds, I was genuinely scared by how bad things had become.

I couldn’t relax, couldn’t sit still, and my germ anxiety was so bad I changed my clothes every time went into the bathroom, even it is was just to scrub my face. I washed my hands before, during and after using the toilet. I laugh about this last part now when I bring it up to show people how far I’ve come, but honestly, I don’t find it funny in the slightest. I find it terrifying.

Then the doctor told me that he’d like me to be on them ‘until I’m feeling a bit brighter, plus another six months’.

I felt like the bottom had just fallen out of my world. I wanted to take it back. I wanted to take it all back, even the CBT I’d agreed to try instead of counselling like I’d had several times before (I’ve actually had CBT since then too). I’d agreed to give over at least half a year of my life to taking these meds. That was way too long! I’d made a huge mistake! I couldn’t take it back because the prescription was already in my hand.

I got home and paced my room as I listened to Twenty One Pilots in my earphones as loudly as the volume would let. This, as trivial as it sounds, is actually quite significant and proves how angry I was with myself. When someone bought me my very first tape walkman as a kid, I hardly used it because I was so afraid it would make me go deaf, and on the rare occasions I did use it, I would spend at least 10 minutes after I’d taken the headphones off repeating everything my parents said back to them so they (and I ) could check I hadn’t gone deaf. I had to do this for quite a while to prove that my ears were’t playing tricks on me for the first few sentences…

I’m over this particular worry now, but it’s always in the back of my mind whenever I use my earphones.

Anyway…

Fast-forward to 2018 and I’m taking antidepressants way, way, way more for depression than anxiety and I feel strangely okay about it. I’ve had so many ‘dips’ in this time that I know I’m not ready come off them yet. They’ve not been a magical cure, I’ve had to switch tablets once and raise my doseage more than once, but most of the time they keep me level enough that I can drag myself out of bed, even on my ‘bad’ days, and can actually distinguish one thought from another rather than being sucked into a rabbit hole of thoughts and worries.

I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom at least three times in the last four years, but I’ve found my way back every time. When all is said and done, that’s what’s important.

Share this:

Like this:

It recently occurred to me that a lot of new people have started reading View from a Walking Frame since Employable Me aired. I realised that not all of those people will know a lot about me or this blog, so I thought today it might be nice to re-introduce myself and explain a few of the things I natter on about on here.

So, here is a bit of a potted history of my life.

About Me

I’m pretty sure most of you will have worked this out already, but if you haven’t then I’m Nicola Golding (although I go by Nic) and I have cerebral palsy. I write a lot, read just as much and drink way, way, way too much tea.

I also have anxiety and depression that flares up a various points in my life, which I talk about a lot on here (and my YouTube channel too).

I have a boyfriend of nine years, two cats, a dog, and a degree in multimedia journalism.

That’s about as interesting as I get to be honest, but if you want to know more about me that isn’t related to my disability or mental health, then you can always look through my old Fun Fact Friday posts.

About my cerebral palsy

There are about 17 million people in the world who have cerebral palsy, and while I’m definitely not a CP (or disability) expert, I am perhaps the only expert in how cerebral palsy truly effects me.

To cut a very long story short, I was born 14 weeks premature and had a bleed in my brain, and that is how I got CP, or spastic diaplegic cerebral palsy to be specific. There are four main types of cerebral palsy, but mine is the spastic kind, which means I have muscle tightness. Diaplegic means I have it in two limbs (both of my legs). Although, my left arm is also impacted a bit, so some professionals call me triplegic (three limbs).

There is no cure for it, but I can learn to manage my pain and the various other challenges my disability throws at me.

The main problem I have is pain. There is not a single day where I am ever completely pain free. Some days are worse than others. Now I’m getting older (I’m 27) I’m noticing that the bad days are getting more and more frequent, and some months they outnumber the good.

Share this:

Like this:

Well the first week of 2018 was definitely eventful for me. I had my birthday, three freelance work deadlines, two full days of volunteering, and I even bothered to put my makeup on at least three times. And I managed to survive on that on less sleep than I would’ve like, and without getting so anxious that I turned into a puff of smoke.

I’m so proud of myself. It might not sound like a big deal, but I haven’t been this busy in a long time, and I’d started to become afraid that I might not be able to handle it any more. Turns out I can. Cool.

Over the years I’ve learned the hard way that setting myself too many long-term goals at once isn’t great. I have a habit of turning them into sticks to beat myself with. As much as I’m working hard to not do that, but I find it’s better not to take chances. That said, I’m (so far) still feeling pretty positive about everything to I do have a couple of things I want to try achieve this year:

I’m not sure if going to commit to that schedule again straightaway, but I’m hoping for at least two blog posts a week and two YouTube videos a month. We’ll see.

Complete a second draft of my YA eating disorders novel

I have way too many novels on the go. I think around three or four, but the one I’m furthest along with is a YA novel about teenagers with eating disorders. I’ve even had feedback on it from an editor.

I say here that I want to finish a second draft, but I’ve actually redrafted the first third of it too many times to count. By the end of the year, I want to have actually re-drafted it all the way to the end so I can send it back to my editor.

Wish me luck!

Share this:

Like this:

Well, it’s just past midnight on January 2nd. I am pleased, and actually quite amazed to say that I managed to survive New Year without dissolving into a ball of anxiety, depression and self-loathing like I have done almost every year since I graduated.

If anything, I’m more motivated than ever.

It’s also my birthday. 27 years ago today I shocked (and probably panicked) everyone by deciding that I wanted to take my place in the world 14 weeks ahead of schedule. I got cerebral palsy for my eagerness.

I wish I could say this level of punctuality has followed me into my adult life, but I’d be lying.

For the past few years I haven’t wanted to do anything special for my birthday.

I never really gave that much thought when I was a kid, but now I’m older it feels pretty darn weird. I think it always will now. I mean, why would/should/do I celebrate a day that was probably awful for my family?

This year though, I’ve had a bit of a change of heart. I survived. My mum survived. It was touch and go for a while, but we made it. My dad also managed to come through the whole ordeal too.

My parents were told I’d need speech therapy. I didn’t.

My parents were told I might not crawl. I did. Within two weeks of them being told that.

They were told I might only be able to ‘walk around a supermarket at best’. I think you all know how wrong that turned out to be.

Not only did we all survive, but we stuck two fingers up to every expectation along the way.